The Delicate Sound of Thunder
by When-Shadows-Dance
Summary: A young woman, working as a Criminal Defense Lawyer in the Big Apple, believes that as a result of her past and professions she is destined to eternity in Hell. She realizes she is stranded with nothing but fate. Oh, and the help of Metatron...
1. Right Next Door to Hell

**Title: **The Delicate Sound of Thunder  
  
**Summary: **A young woman, working as a Criminal Defense Lawyer in the Big Apple, believes that as a result of her past and professions she is destined to eternity in Hell. Turning to her friends for support she realizes she is stranded with nothing but fate. That is until the entrance of 2 prophets, the 13th Apostle, and a witty angel named, "The Metatron", change her life forever.  
  
**Rating: **The rating will change each chapter, but due to language and sexual innuendo's, will be slightly high compared to my other fic's. This chapter will remain 14A, as it will contain some crude jokes and language. However, though the rating's go up, I assure you, this fic will be one of the best yet.  
  
**Genre: **Comedy/Angst/Romance/Adventure  
  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the lovely little characters created by the "Dogma" people. Although, I wish I had Alan Rickman all to myself. –squee and glomp- That is only a fantasy, -sigh- and therefore, I have no right to say I own any of the brilliant masterpiece that is "Dogma". However, I can thank them. Thank them for making and brining to life one hell of a movie and awesome characters who will always and forever own a place in my heart. Oh, and some of the characters are mine. All mine, based on some people in my life who welcomed me to the "Dogma" un-official fan-club. (Nicky, Sharrah...whom, infact, have almost the same name's RL.) I also mention another friend, whom has not yet seen the movie, but will love it all the same. They will be introduced in the second chapter...(Shimmy –wink-) Well. Enjoy the story, don't flame me too much. Hope you love it as much as I do.  
  
_PS: I'm ALWAYS open to suggestions. So, if you want to see/hear the characters do/say anything...just comment. I'll see if I can work it in, just for you. –bows curtly-_  
  
Amen.  


* * *

**PROLOGUE**  
_[Right Next Door to Hell]_  
  
"I'm going to hell, I just know it." A voice grumbled from the young woman whom had buried her head in her hand's, and leaned forward onto the table, "It's destined for me, you know it, I know it...shit, God even knows it. I bet he's just waiting to see the day I die. Sitting on his almighty ass and waiting for my to...Oh, I dunno, fall off a fucking cliff or something!"  
  
A chuckle was suppressed from the second woman sitting at the table in the small New York café, her mocha curl's cascading around her pleasant, freckled face like an elaborate frame, "How many time's have we had this discussion this week, 'Less?" She replied calmly, her warming brown eye's bearing down onto the grumbling girl's blonde head, as she reached across the table and patted her reassuringly, "You aren't going to hell."  
  
"And what make's you so sure?" The voice snapped as she recoiled from her frustrated position, jerking her head up to face the other two. Her crystal blue eye's shone with a seriousness never seen amidst her before; but her short blonde hair, hanging two inches from her broad shoulders, still flipped out with the playfulness she was always graced with, "Last time I checked you ain't no angel. God, I'm a fucking criminal defense lawyer, Nicky! A CRIMINAL DEFENSE LAWYER! Okay? Do you even know what I did today?"  
  
The third woman, apparently choosing to sit back and listen throughout the beginning of what seemed and endless debate, mumbled lazily, "You woke up. You ate breakfast. You went to work. You dealt with your horrendous work partners. You went to sign some divorce papers. You came with us for lunch." Her aqua eyes glittered with the usual sparkle of sarcasm, her tone filled with a sisterly bluntness that they had all grown to love, as she ran a hand through her russet tresses.  
  
"Can we PLEASE be serious for just one second, Sharrah?" Alessia, also known as 'Less, snapped with a rough casualness. Her pale face was turning slightly red from the frustration, a hint of crimson rising in her cheeks, as she straightened out her T-shirt, "Can we just be serious for one, bloody, fucking second?"  
  
"Oh, that's rich," Nicky snorted, as she rolled her eye's in mock disgust, retreating from her words to take a momentary sip of her Java, "Alessia telling us 'let's be serious'. That's ironic. Coming from somebody who's worried the earth's going to open up and swallow her whole into it's fiery pits of doom!" Childishly she waggled her finger's in Alessia's disgruntled face with a moronic chuckle.  
  
"Shut up." Alessia groaned, swatting at her friend's waggling fingers, "Anyways; That's not irony, that's hypocrisy. But honestly, do you even know what I do for a living?" She sighed, resting the side of her crème face on an up-turned palm, rested stably by it's elbow on the small wooden table.  
  
"You're a lawyer," Sharrah stated matter-of-factly with a shrug, not understanding the under-lying point, "Which, last time I checked, is a very professional career at the age of 26."  
  
"Not just any lawyer, Sharrah! A criminal defense lawyer," Alessia cried in grieving, throwing her hands up in defeat, a look of horror striking her painfully beautiful face, "Wake-up! Even the name reeks of Hell's odor! I defend criminal's. I lie so that some messed up, sick, twisted fuck can live freely..."  
  
"So?" She was quickly interrupted, as Nicky spoke again, "I'm a novelist. I spend day's inside my apartment, sitting at a computer screen, surfing the net mindlessly as I search my mind for any sort of inspiration, and get paid for it!" Nicky added, raising her eyebrow's at the platinum blonde, "I'll be following you to hell, by any rate."  
  
"And I'm a Restaurant Manager. I order people around and watch them do all my work for hardly any pay," Sharrah shrugged, as she defiantly thumped a closed fist onto the table, all three coffee cups rattling in a startled manner, "Is that hell worthy?"  
  
"Neither of your jobs are. God, you don't get it. You just don't fucking get it, neither of you do!" Alessia growled, her crystal blue eye's cold and enraged, as she massaged her temples wearily between her thumb and fore- finger.  
  
"What don't we get, 'Less?" Nicky said a little softer, trying to figure out what was getting on her friend's nerves so terribly.  
  
"It's wrong. Okay. Just wrong." Alessia mumbled, running a finger absentmindedly around the rim of her porcelain coffee mug, watching the intoxicating swirl's of mocha, chocolate, and caramel intertwine with one another; Creating an abstract and beautiful array of pigment's and motion, "Like, today for example. I have a client whom," She lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper, "Whom confessed to me that not only did he rape and murder a woman, but he was also responsible for three other deaths."  
  
"And how's that you're fault?" Questioned Sharrah with a prominently confused glance, "Cause I seemed to have missed that part. Some people are just sociopathic, homicidal perverts. There's nothing you can do about it. "  
  
"Hell! There's tons I could do about it. I could throw him in jail and make sure he doesn't pull something stupid like that again. But no. I have to defend him. I've gotta swallow the ranting's of a sociopathic, homicidal pervert and get him to somehow come off as a good and decent man in front of a fucking jury. He's delusional, and a liar. Not to mention wicked and downright aggressive. And those are some of his better qualities." Alessia sighed, running a hand through her pale locks of gold, and shaking her head in sheer anger.  
  
There was an odd silence floating around the table. Nicky quickly scanned over the contents of the morning's paper, which she had read over thirty times in the last hour; Sharrah's eye's distantly wandered to the window, watching people cross the street as the light flickered scarlet. Alessia sighed, speaking again, both of the other's woman's eye's floating back to her.  
  
"And I have to get this sick fuck off. That's my screwed up life."  
  
"I think you're taking thing's too seriously," Sharrah shrugged, quirking an eyebrow and yawning, her hand raising to her lip's in order to excuse the tired action.  
  
"And you, not seriously enough." Alessia hissed, once again her eye's glaring dagger's into Sharrah's, a common event that occurred around a round of coffee.  
  
"Well, if there is a God," Nicky started un-easily, "Shouldn't he be able to...Oh, I dunno. Send one of his little, messenger angels down to cleanse you of all of your sins, or something?" She furrowed her brow, and shrugged, trying to force out a weak smile in Alessia's direction, "You go to church every Sunday, why don't you ask him for a favor? Ask him for help."  
  
"Right." Alessia stated bluntly, her frown setting heavier, as she pouted more outlandishly, "Like that bullshit will ever happen." After a long pause and many withdrawn sigh's she added, "I need a tequila. A strong tequila."  
  
"Girl," Sharrah smirked, as she slammed down her cup of Mocha joyously, "You need four tequila's."  
  
"Ya," Alessia chuckled, actually smiling. Her placid lip's widening into a grin that seemed to light up her aristocratic feature's, "I need four tequila's and a goddamned guardian angel."  
  
And what the young woman didn't know, was that she was about to get both.

* * *

A/N: That's only the beginning, so come on and read more! Please? Pretty please? You will? AWESOME! Oh, don't forget to review! –mwah- Thanks for reading this little piece of obsession this far: e-mail me, I'm open to any sort of suggestion. However, flame me, and I'll have to reply back...and therefore, The Metatron's wrath will be upon you. 


	2. Maybe There's A Way

**PROLOGUE TWO**

_[Maybe There's a Way...]_  
  
"So, let me get this straight," Metatron stated as he paced himself back and forth in front of the Looking Glass; a heavenly device which enabled God to view Her Earth. It was like a modern day birdbath, but the water shone with so much more. In it's reflection excelled three woman, all centered around a tiny wooden table, conversing over obvious perplexing matter's. Sitting in a New York café, they rambled about day events, until the discussion heated into matter's more paranormal than appropriate. One woman, flustered and frustrated, brought up the topic of Hell. This was when God had called him in, when thing's became serious.  
  
Alessia Stalin was her name, a rusty hinge if he had ever seen one. Matters of death boggled her mind, and her perception of where she would be sent after death was completely right. She was anything but an innocent, and although her friend's tried oh-so-desperately to comfort her, they could not view her opinions as their lifestyles differed immensely. They were clean. Innocent and perfectly swiped slates. Free of the residue of burden of master of sin. She, on the other hand, was a piece of work. A criminal defense lawyer, recently divorced of her husband of three years, and a user of an abortion clinic twice. Anything but clean, innocent, and pure in Metatron's mind, but God thought differently. No, God knew differently. And Metatron knew better than to fuss with what God knew.  
  
"I have to go down to Earth, again, to help this woman work her way out of going to Hell on a one-way train?" Metatron stated flatly, his pacing never ceasing, "I have to help her regain her faith by re-writing all the horrible, awful and incredulous thing's she's done?"  
  
His gaze danced to God, whom simply nodded in accordance, Her eye's understanding and filled with compassion for her servant. She felt terrible for having him run another one of Her errands, but he seemed to be the only Seraphim with the ability to connect to mortal beings. Metatron could understand the way of a human during times of trouble, as he had dealt with many an adventure before.  
  
"I have to get her to quit her job, resolve her marital disputes, search her soul for who she is, and create a miracle?" He barked harshly, his eye's shifting to the Looking Glass momentarily, "Which one is she?"  
  
God raised a delicate, porcelain finger towards the platinum blonde, and for a second he could have sworn he felt an odd sensation of admiration clog his throat. She was astounding, for a mortal, with eye's like the pale sky and skin like the softly fallen snow. Clearing his throat, he continued to talk, making sure he knew exactly what he was doing, "And I have a time span of one week in which to do so?"  
  
"Or else," God mumbled, Her eye's moving into his with a stern and grave look of peril.  
  
"Or else she is doomed to live out her eternity in Hell," Metatron nodded, "Yes, I understand that." He ran a hand over her outline, his finger tracing around the scene in the Looking Glass.  
  
"It's not going to be easy," God whispered softly, watching him with concern, "You're going to need help, and there is a possibility of interference."  
  
"What type of help?" He questioned, still watching the young woman with interest.  
  
"A couple prophets, the 13th apostle, and a Muse or two...possibly." She added with a contemplative sigh, "Depending on whether or not the interference is as major as I expect."  
  
"What type of interference?" His head shot up with poise, almost dreading the answer. Knowing the answer.  
  
"You know what I am speaking of, Metatron. Interference of sorts," God rose from her seat at the large golden throne, and made her way over to him slowly, her bare footprint's leaving tiny marking's in the soft cloud, "Interference physically, and interference emotionally..." She quirked an eyebrow in his direction, knowing he wouldn't understand her fully just yet.  
  
"Emotionally? You must be kidding me? She's a mortal woman, my Lord, nothing but a mere mortal woman." Metatron laughed un-easily, "I can not be bested emotionally by someone who has not out-lasted me in life or immortality."  
  
"Perhaps you are right, perhaps you are wrong. In this universe of mine, many thing's are un-certain..." God lamented philosophically, and She watched as a shiver ran down Metatron's Holy spine.  
  
"Even the destiny and out-come of an Angel?" He questioned with most interest, but She did not answer. Instead, She made Her way back to Her throne and took a deserving seat upon the red velvet cushion.  
  
"You have seven days, Metatron, in seven days your time is up. You will be sent back up to the Heaven's without resistance. Do you understand?" Her voice was mono-toned now, not wanting to give him more detail on the prior topic.  
  
Metatron nodded, taking one last glance at the Looking Glass.  
  
"You will depart today, Monday evening, as she makes her way back to the house after adjourning to a local tavern for tequila."  
  
Metatron smirked; at least they had one thing in common.  
  
"At the exact time you appear in her bedroom you will have 168 hours to complete all of the tasks; which I have described to you."  
  
He nodded, wishing She would simply wish him good luck and allowed him to leave. All this conversation was leaving things unsettled in his mind, and that, he did not appreciate.  
  
"If you wish, you will be able to return here and converse with me on important matter's. Use your own discretion as to when and how you need me."  
  
He tapped his foot impatiently on the ground, and She laughed sweetly.  
  
"Always one for briefness, huh, Metatron? Remember, I made the world in 7 days. I have no use for being brief. Taking your time and stopping to smell the flower's can come in handy." She winked, and he couldn't help but break a giddy smile. She had always been one to uphold a sense of humor. Always.  
  
"Go now, and good luck."  
  
With one last, curt nod, he headed towards the doorframe and left the room without looking back. Even though he would never admit it to Her, a feeling inside him was ecstatic. Metatron was returning to Earth, and whether or not he wanted to acknowledge it, he had an odd feeling about this mission. Something he couldn't quite place...  
  
Something almost mortal.

* * *

A/N: Needed to have a second prologue so you could see it from Metatron's view. Hope you enjoyed. R&R mine and I shall R&R yours! Oh, and even if you don't review. I'm gunna keep on writing. LoL. 


	3. A Message From the Heaven’s

**Chapter One**  
_[A Message From the Heaven's]  
_  
The rain fell more steadily now, heavier than it had been coming down when she left the bar an hour ago, reducing the reach of her headlights. The night was nothing but an endless, devouring tunnel. The sky seemed too low, the trees hunched over in attempt to engulf the road. Alessia Stalin's imagination ran amuck with images of maniac's leaping out in front of her and cars suddenly looming in the rearview mirror.  
  
Perhaps it was just the alcohol's effect, or perhaps it was simply because she had not had a very good day. Perhaps, both. Whatever it was- she wasn't feeling all herself, as her grip on the steering wheel of her car tightened cautiously. Headlight's came up behind her, glinting in her mirror like a shimmering diamond, and her breath stopped short. The car seemed on her tail, and as she took a quick look over her shoulder, she couldn't place a face or even a gender to the driver. The car slowly swept alongside her, and her panic doubled. Nevertheless, it soon sailed past, taillight's glowing in the gloom, and relief swept over her like cold water. Everyone at work was right; maybe she was too damn cautious for her own good. She hit her blinker, and pulled into her Duplex driveway.  
  
She had her key tightly gripped in one hand as she went up the steps to the front door, ready to unlock the door quickly or use the key as a very weak weapon in case someone jumped out from behind the lilac bush struggling to live beside her stoop.  
  
A lamp burned in the living room, giving the false impression someone was home all evening. After locking the door, she hung up her denim jacket on the coat rack, grabbed a towel from the bathroom to dab at her rain soaked platinum locks, and moved through the house turning on several lights. She was careful not to emerge herself fully into a room until the light was on, and she could see. She checked the spare bedroom, the bathroom, and her bedroom; which was located at the end of the narrow hall. Nothing had been disturbed, and no monsters were hiding under the bed or in the closet. A can of hairspray rested on the nightstand, and could be used like Mace if someone broke in during the night.  
  
With the knowledge of her own safety, she let fatigue settle in. Too many nights without sleep had worn her down, as she had hassled with intense cases over the last two-week period. Her supervisor had told her, insisted, that she go home and take a week or so off. But, as soon as she was willing to except, another case came flying through the door.  
  
Slowly she brushed her teeth, took of her jeans, and climbed into bed with the T-shirt she'd worn all day. I'M WITH STUPID, it read, and an arrow pointed to the empty space in the bed beside her. She was with no one.  
  
Until 3:34 am.  
  
Alessia Stalin woke up with a start, as she heard a low rumbling noise coming from the foot of her bed. It started out rhythmic and slow, but adjusted to a loud rocking sensation that moved her mattress set with tremendous force. Quickly, she sat up in bed, throwing the covers off her. Clad in nothing but a long T-shirt she found herself shaking with fear, only to pause in awe as a voice rang out loudly.  
  
"Behold The Metatron, Herald of the Almighty, and Voice of the one true God."  
  
Suddenly, in the exact place the voice seemed to be creeping from, a large cloud of flame shot up through the air. It flickered wildly, a brilliant spectacle of red, orange, and yellow, swallowing each other up repeatedly. Licking wildly in the air, wavering as if a mighty gust of wind wouldn't even exalt it.  
  
Alessia screamed shrilly, and found herself backing up against the headboard in a struggling fashion, her feet not moving in accordance with her brain. Again, the voice rang out loudly.  
  
"Behold The Metatron, Herald of the Almighty, and Voice of the one true God."  
  
Not knowing what else to do, and in a rush of sheer stupidity; she grabbed a hold of the hairspray, covered her eye's with a soft hand, and held it in front of her...ready to do, well, whatever it was she planned to do.  
  
Slowly, the voice faded away as did the fire; although she only knew this by instinct for her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Hairspray can still held out in front of her. Seeing nothing but darkness through her closed eyelid's she listened as a faint chuckling sound was heard, followed by the voice again: seemingly softer and gentler than before.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell, would you put down the hairspray and open your eye's?" The voice laughed. Alessia could tell it belonged to a male, with English decent as well. It was thick, and regal. Slightly hoarse at time's, but nonetheless filled with infinite grace, "What do you intend to do, 'Less? Give me a bad hair day? For Heaven's sakes...open your goddamned eye's!" The voice insisted, and Alessia did as she was told.  
  
Slowly, her crystal blue eye's opened, although she never left her huddled position at the head of the bed. Standing about a foot away from her mattress' end was a man. Clad in a grey sweatshirt, with a stylish black suite blazer thrown over, and a pair of trousers as dark as the night. Shining leather Oxford's finished off the look to give him the superior standard of gleaming regality. He stood about 5'8, dark hair of deep chocolate ruffled and unkempt, but in a fashionably handsome sort of way. His face creased in places like leather, but in a defined and distinguished manner, that showed his age beautifully. Eyes of hazel, bearing down onto her menacingly. For a man who appeared to be in his fifty's he looked well, and Alessia soon found herself smirking in spite of her thoughts.  
  
"Are you going to speak? Or are you just going to sit there?" He questioned bluntly, rolling his eyes in her direction, "Alright. So you've taken option two." He concluded, crossing his arms against his chest, as he tapped a foot impatiently on the ground. Raising his left wrist, he pulled back his sleeve with his other hand, and watched the silver second hand of his watch tick rapidly.  
  
"We don't have all bloody day, say something, would you?" He snapped, his upper lip curling slightly.  
  
"Who the fuck are you?" Alessia muttered, jaw slightly dropped as she watched him intently.  
  
"Did you not listen to anything I said?" He grumbled, pursing his lips together, and huffing haughtily.  
  
"It was kind of distracting," Alessia spat back, her eye's glaring at him, wondering what was to come of her. She loosened her grip on the Hairspray bottle, but found herself huddling even further up against the headboard, "Between the flames appearing out of nowhere and all...Oh, and the voice seemingly coming from the fucking heaven's!"  
  
However, she was interrupted as the man drawled lazily, "I am The Metatron, Herald of the Almighty, and Voice of the one true God." His right hand lolled about dramatically as he spoke, showing his mock interest in repeating his words.  
  
Alessia snorted, but remained in fear, "You expect me to believe you're some sort of...well, whatever you are?" She looked him up and down, closing her eye's momentarily, hopping they would act like shades; blocking the image from her mind. Making it dis-appear, making it all an illusion. That's right, it was all an illusion.  
  
"And how do you know my fucking name?" She snapped irritably.  
  
"I told you, Alessia," He snapped back loudly, his voice filled with frustration, "I am The Metatron, Herald of the Almighty, and Voice of the one true God. You may call me, Metatron."  
  
Alessia just sat there, blankly, shaking her head in apology to him, "Okay. You're a Metatron. As in, an angel?"  
  
Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, and from his shoulder blades appeared two pearly white wings. Growing at a fast rate, they expanded to be the enormous, as well as excruciatingly majestic. Feathers like that of a finely kept eagle, emblazoned with small threads of sparkling silver and gold. Flapping them once or twice, he snapped his fingers once more and they dis-appeared into his back, leaving no trace of evidence, "We know everything."  
  
Alessia had watched the entire display with a growing sense of hysteric. Standing in front of her was no modern day magician. He was an Angel. A real as hell Angel! Clasping a hand over her mouth, Alessia grew pale, feeling the tequila rising in her gut, a warming sensation surging through her esophagus. Rising quickly, "Oh my God, I think I'm going to be sick." She mumbled in between coughing gags as she wrestled the satin covers away from her feet and jumped from the bed.  
  
"Don't use the Lord's name in vain...he hate's that!" Metatron called silkily as he watched the woman hurry from her sleeping quarters, and dart down the hallway into the nearest bathroom. The door slammed behind her, and second's later a deep coughing sound could be heard, followed by the noise of running and flushing water. Smirking Metatron took a seat at the edge of her bed, wondering if she realized how much was exposed when you darted down the hallway in a thigh length t-shirt. Well, if he was going to have to go through with another stupid mission, at least this one seemed to be somewhat promising.

* * *

She returned minute's later, slightly shaky, and stumbled into her room. After she had disposed of her six or so drinks, as well as her dinner, brushed her teeth, and splashed excessive amounts of cold water onto her creamy complexion she had decided to walk right in there and go back to bed. By now, he'd be gone. It'd have all be some horrid dream, and she would wake up in the morning to find she was delusional due to excessive amounts of stress and under-eating. Unfortunately, the so-called "Metatron" had not left. Instead, when she swung open the oaken door to her bedroom, he was sitting cross-legged on the edge of her bed. Sighing, she raised a hand and ran it through her golden locks, her blue eye's finally adjusting to the truth. As she entered, he turned to her and smirked in a witty manner, "Feeling better? You know, I would expect you would, after spending nearly thirty minutes doing God-knows-what in front of the vanity mirror... "  
  
Deciding to ignore the comment altogether she sat herself down beside him, and questioned softly, "You're an angel?" She furrowed her brow, and tilted her head to the side, as if examining him.  
  
Metatron nodded, and repeated slowly, "I'm an angel. Actually, I'm The Metatron, but if it helps you can-"  
  
"And how do I know that it's true?"  
  
"What, you mean aside from the fiery entrance and expansive wing-span? Oh, I dunno..." Metatron drawled coldly, giving her a look of deep disgust, "You either choose to believe, or you don't." A shrug escaped him.  
  
"I don't believe in a lot of thing's these days," said Alessia softly, biting her lower lip in anxiety, a security habit she had picked up long ago, "Especially not anything related even mildly with Heaven."  
  
"So I've heard." Metatron stated in a tone neither caring yet harsh, his hazel eye's floating to her face. He had to admit, for a mortal, she was astoundingly precious.  
  
"What do you mean? Heard from where?" Alessia asked, moving herself closer to him, as if it would give her better results in an answer. Instead, she only resulted in feeling an odd sensation welling at the mid of her navel. A soft tingle, a welcomed surge of happiness.  
  
"Well, it was just this afternoon when you said, and I quote; 'I need four tequila's and a goddamned guardian angel.' So, I take it you had your four tequila's, and I'm your goddamned guardian angel. Savvy?" The Metatron quirked an eyebrow, and chortled, apparently mildly amused by the entire situation.  
  
Alessia just flushed a shade of crimson, "Ya. I did say that, didn't I?"  
  
"It's all recorded, up in Heaven, I mean," Metatron added matter-of-factly, "Probably in Hell too. But that's not the issue at the moment, is it?"  
  
"How am I supposed to know?" Alessia yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes of sleep, "What IS the issue?"  
  
"The issue is your faith."  
  
"Okay. This is just too odd." The female snorted, "I must be really drunk." Alessia rolled he eye's and found herself giggling un-controllably. The laughter erupting from her throat like warm apple cider, tickling all her senses and releasing the tension of the situation at hand. Soon, she had flopped backwards onto the mattress, and found him doing the same. They both lay, staring at the ceiling, hands folded across their chests. However, the conversation did not stop, as she had many a things to say. Drunk or not, she was completely confused.  
  
"My faith?" She quirked an eyebrow hostilely, trying to make sense of the entire dilemma, "What's wrong with my faith?"  
  
"Everything." Stated the Metatron bluntly, "Everything that possibly could be wrong. Or, so God thinks."  
  
"God know's me?" Alessia's eyes shot wide open, as she turned her head to her right, to look at him.  
  
There was an odd silence as Metatron raised a hand to his eyes, and covered them momentarily, before sighing and shaking his head in pure disgust of the female.  
  
Alessia felt herself getting warm, and blushed profusely, "Okay, I get it. Stupid question."

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A/N: I'm sorry it's taking so long to get into the actual story. I just thought you people might need some background information. After all, I want this fic to be enjoyed by all. Not just the "Dogma" fans. Therefore, I need to introduce everything. Well. I promise next chapter is the best yet. –drum roll- Of course, we meet Jay and Silent Bob...oh, and is there a little mortal crush forming between The Metatron and his apprentice? –knowing look- Read and find out...-nods- 


	4. And So It Starts

**Nicky: **Thanks for reviewing! Yay! –bows to you- I am absolutely grateful. Anyways, here is what you asked for. More Jay and Silent Bob. Just for you. Okay, so I admit it, I was already planning on fitting them into this chapter anyways. But...uhm...-squirms- Let us just pretend it's just for you, kay?  
  
**gundam metatron0084 **: Thanks you for reviewing, and much thanks for saying you enjoyed my interpretation of the Metatron. If I had ruined him it would have resulted in disaster as I, like you most likely, love Alan Rickman to cuddly bits and pieces. Please, keep reading and reviewing! And thanks again.  
  
**Lady Lestat: **Thanks as well, keep on reading. Oh, and the best part is, you won't have to wait any longer. Because here they are!  
  
_NOTE: Crude language and humor, parents strongly cautioned!_

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* * *

_**Chapter Two **

_[And So It Starts]_  
  
She remembered a man. Or she had dreamed about a man. A man with wings, claiming to be her guardian angel, a Metatron. He had appeared by her beside, bursting into flames, claiming he was the only thing standing between her and an eternity in hell. Literally. However, had it all been a dream; some wicked nightmare that swamped her mind so intoxicatingly that it seemed like reality? Reality. What was reality? Reality and it's opposite floated around in her brain like the stuff in a Lava Lamp. Morphing into shapes and engulfing one another relentlessly. She groaned and shifted positions, sprawling onto her stomach. The rustling of the sheets was magnified to the sound of glass cracking right next to her ear. Glass. Drinking. Ugh. That was when she remembered the tequila- lots of it. She needed to pee. Badly. Another groan, as she went to throw the covers off her.  
  
Surely, she must have been drunk. Terribly drunk. Coming home she remembered normalcy, then the next thing she new some gorgeous man with wing's had appeared at her bedside. Too good to be true. Too scary to be true. Too true to be true. He had claimed he was the Metatron, the voice of God, Herald of the Almighty. He had been sent by "Him" to rid her of the entire unholy and impure thing's she had done in her lifetime. There was a series of tasks he had listed to her as well, but many of his words were nothing but mumbling phrases streaming through her mind. Streaming. Flowing. Rushing. She really had to go pee. Again, she pushed the covers off slowly, a tiredness succumbing her terribly. She had to go to the washroom so very intolerably, but at the same time, wanted nothing more than to descend into a deep sleep.  
  
Then, she felt a gentle hand settle on her back, a familiar tingling sensation run through her chest, and a warm breathe, rich with the smell of tequila and mint, caressing her ear.  
  
"Rise and shine, love. We've got our work cut out for us." It was the same voice she'd heard last night, the same regal tone with English decent, telling her of all that was related to her destiny. The Metatron.  
  
In a quick rush, she bolted up and turned, twisting the sheet around her quickly, cracking her skull on the headboard and wincing as pain bounded inside her head.  
  
"Jesus! Fuck! Shit! What the hell are you doing here?" She demanded, her eye's closed as she rubbed the back of her neck in sheer agony, "How the fuck did you get in my house? How long have you been standing by my fucking bedside? Why did you fucking touch me? Don't ever fucking touch me! Aren't you going to fucking speak?"  
  
"Dude," Another voice called out from the end of her bed, "I like this chick, she's got a fucking temper. Buuung."  
  
Alessia's eye's shot open, her jaw dropped, and she gasped in horror. Now aside from the Metatron, there were two other men standing behind him, looking her up and down. Looking down as well, she realized she was wearing nothing but a T-shirt, and in result of which; clung to the bed sheets a little tighter than before. The first man was slightly taller than the second, with dirty blonde hair hanging limply on his shoulders, a black hat tugged over his ears. He dressed like any normal teenager of the time, baggy black jeans, a T-shirt, and a haphazardly set sweater over his horrible excuse for shoulders. His blue eyes were glimmering with a mischievous angle, and he smirked and nudged the second man.  
  
"And she's wicked ass hot. SCORE!"  
  
Alessia groaned in dis-satisfaction, as the second man smiled and nodded in a foolish manner, licking his lips apprehensively. He was shorter than the first, and hadn't yet spoken. His build was slightly heavier set, and a dark chocolate goatee hung around his pale face. Clad in a dark green baseball cap, covering his shaggy locks of russet, and a pair of jeans, a T- shirt with the Rolling Stones logo, and a green velvet jacket that ended somewhere around his pudgy ankles.  
  
"Wow, Tron, you never said she was fucking hot!" The first man rubbed his hands together, as if devising a plan of action, and Alessia watched in horror, "Man, I'd do her in a second!"  
  
"I never said she was ugly either," Metatron huffed, shooting Alessia an apologetic look. She tried to return the favor, but the urge to pee and the want to know whom the two dumb asses standing beside him were, forced her to not feel so apologetic.  
  
"Dude! How many time's have you been in this sweet little broad's bedroom?" The first man asked Metatron, nudging the angel forcefully. Alessia felt as though she was going to be sick. Terribly sick, and if she had any control of her aim, she'd force it onto the nasty little prude in a second.  
  
Metatron sighed, and shrugged, his words spoken with a tone of offense. As if he actually cared about her, "The young woman's name is Alessia. Please, call her Alessia. Alright? And, twice but that's hardly the-"  
  
"TWICE? Chick's a whore! Shizzam!" He interrupted, turning to high-five the shorter one. Alessia made a disgusted click of her tongue and pulled the covers up over her head.  
  
"You do know, asshole, that I'm sitting right in front of you?" She snapped, as she pulled the cover's back down again, running her fingers through her platinum blonde hair with a slightly shaking hand.  
  
"Oh, hey, sorry, baby." The first man spoke raising an eyebrow as he came towards her, Alessia groaned at the pet-name and moved further up towards the headboard of her bed, feeling oddly cornered, "I'm Jay, and this is my hetero-life mate Silent Bob. We're prophets."  
  
"Prophets?" Alessia mouthed silently to the Metatron, eye's wide. He simply shrugged.  
  
"God's got a wicked sense of humor, you know." The Metatron said defensively, but Alessia found it no excuse. All she found was that her need for a restroom had increased over the last seven minute's of senseless conversation.  
  
"We're prophet's, and we're here to teach you-" Jay outstretched a finger in Alessia's direction, "How to be fucking holy!" And with that he mocked the gesture of crossing himself.  
  
Alessia snorted haughtily, and shook her head in disgust, "Uh huh. You two stoners are prophets, and he's the Metatron...blah, blah, blah. You know, I really need to take a piss. So, if you aren't going to rape me pointlessly or something...do you think I could go before I wet my fucking bed?" Her sarcasm was sharp, and she narrowed her eyes at the three.  
  
"God, Alessia. What's it going to take for you to believe all this? It's all true!" The Metatron sighed, watching the girl as she shifted in her seat. Then, placing a finger on his dashing chin he added, "You know what, I think you know it. I think you're just afraid..."  
  
"Afraid?" Alessia raised her voice, "Afraid?" She repeated, laughing sardonically, "Of two grungy men and a fucking angel appearing at my bedside? Ya, that might be fucking right!" She screamed, her crystal blue eyes bearing into his of deep auburn.  
  
"Speaking of fucking..." Jay began, but was cut off as Alessia bounded from bed.  
  
"Excuse me, your holy-ness." She mock bowed to Metatron, and turned to Jay and Silent Bob, "And you as well, Prophets. But, if you aren't going to gang bang me, I need to take a piss before I'm goddamned late for work!"  
  
"Speaking of work," The Metatron began, "There's something you need to do about that."  
  
"Oh ya? WHAT?" Alessia hollered as she made her way down the hallway, entered the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her. The entire upper- level of the house rumbled at rattled at the force of the tension.  
  
"Uhm, you need to..." The Metatron started loudly, but added at a mumble with an added cough, "Quit."  
  
"I can't hear you!" Alessia screamed from the bathroom, through the door, the sound traveling down to her bedroom perfectly.  
  
Jay smirked, and said in the same tone, "THE ANGEL DUDE SAID YOU NEED TO FUCKING QUIT YOUR FUCKING JOB!"  
  
There was an odd silence, as the sound of Alessia throwing up the rest of her tequila echoed through the room.  
  
"What is this bitch, PREGNANT?" Alessia heard Jay retorting, "She ain't? She's hung-over? Shit. Girl's a party slut. Man, it's gunna be a long fucking day."  
  
He was right. Well, on one account. It was surely going to be a long "fucking" day.  
  
Alessia needed an Aspirin...and another tequila.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so that wasn't one of my best chapters. –shrugs- I'm in the middle of writing a series of thing's. Well. Hope you keep reading, I'd like to see some replies. –shrugs again- Next chapter's hilarious. I almost peed myself writing it. Seriously. Stay tuned! –show-tune plays as she dances off-


	5. C'est La Vie

**Nicole**: Glad you liked it. –glomps- I'm so thrilled to know you actually enjoyed my view of Jay and Silent Bob. –wipes sweat from forehead- I was so worried I ruined them. –cringes- Thanks again. Keep reviewing.

**Sam**: -jumps up and down- Okay, brace yourself, my good pal. I have created a character so Samantha, it will bring a complete essence never before seen among the like's of Dogma fan fiction. Behold…you. Okay, so I make one small reference to you in this chapter. However, you will be fully introduced in Chapter Four. And I mean, fully introduce. Just wait, please, be patient. –begs- And have fun! Joking. I'm not gunna make you wait any longer. –drum roll- Just wanted to see you twitch. Hah. Keep reading, love!

**Campion**: Thanks for the support, and together we shall keep the Dogma category here on FF alive. –thrusts fist into the air- I agree, however, Loki and Bartleby, although amusing, are rather annoying when found in abundance. Gah. It seems to be a cornucopia of L/B love. –sigh- Oh, but thanks for saying you like my Metatron and Jay. I tried to make them unique, but not stray too much for their original form. Hope you enjoyed, and don't worry…I shall keep writing, and I won't stop. Many, many goods time ahead. Keep on reading and reviewing! –huggles-

**gundam metatron0084**: Thanks, again. –blushes- I shall continue, and thanks for the compliment. Oh, and just for you…lots of good Jay and Silent Bob in next chapter. I don't wanna give too much away…but, uhm…aw, -shrugs-, they start a bar fight. It's great, really. Keep reading and reviewing.

**Raynee**: It turns out I've had about four chapter's done for, like, five days. Heh. Just never gotten around to updating. It seems as though you've enjoyed my fic, and for that, I thank you very much. –glomps- I shall, as you said; "BRING IT ON!"

**Lady Lestat**: Jay, as always, cracked me up too. I had to make sure he was incredibly, well, Jay-ish. Didn't wanna upset you guys, so I tried, and I'm glad you think I've succeeded. Oh, and Metatron vibes towards Alessia? –spooky jaws theme- Maybe…but we shall have to wait and see. I'm not giving ANYTHING away. But yes, he does care for her "the least bit" Well, read and find out.

**Alex: **Thanks for the compliments. And I'm sorry I didn't update "soon."

**Bailey: **Thanks for your review. It was actually what made me start writing again. I whipped up this chapter in the last twenty minutes, and I'm hoping to keep up the work every night between my busy schedule. I've got tons of homework lately, as I've just begun high school, and some auditions for various artistic things. However, I'm going to fit this in my schedule as much as possible. But truly, you are my muse. It is because of you that the rest of this exists. Remember that! And I'm sure I'll get in touch with you soon. PS: How would you like me to write you in as one of the characters? I've got the perfect spot.

_A/N_: I want to thank you all for reviewing and reading! It's great to see people interested. I shall try to keep having personal comments to start off every chapter as long as you keep hanging on! –smiles- Thank you again, and remember: If you have any suggestions or want to see/hear something…tell me. I'll try to fit in what I can. And I'm sorry it took me so long.

All my devotion,

Aly

**Chapter Three**

_C'est La Vie_

She was late for work, had a headache, felt hung over, and wanted nothing more than to strangle God for messing around with her life more than need be. All that, and a fashionable, chunky heel on a new pair of suede pumps was coming loose; due to the stairs at the Fifth Avenue parking lot.

Alessia wanted no more than to be back in her comfortable bed, with her comfortable pillow, and comfortable blanket. Where it was warm, and cozy, and serene. Perhaps, since it was just a fantasy, she could pair herself alongside a tall, dark, and handsome man who she would snuggle close and allow him to run his hands through her hair. At this thought, she sighed allowed, but regained her horrid mood as she realized she was back with reality. No bed, no pillow, no handsome man. Instead she had to deal with the morning traffic, a rough walk through the eerie, abandoned parking lot, coffee that tasted like it came from the rear side of a donkey, and the cold, damp streets of New York. At least she didn't have to bother herself with the other two morons, Jay and Non-Speaking Bob or whatever, who had seemingly left the house in order to…what did Metatron say again? Oh yes, "receive a mission statement from central control." Right, whatever that meant.

"So, tell me what I have to do again?" Alessia questioned roughly, briefcase in hand and purse on her shoulder as she swung open the doors to the Law Firm Office, entering the lobby. The glass piece's released a clattering noise as they hit the wall's behind them, the force of Alessia's effort echoed relentlessly through the main floor of the building and she didn't dare to make eye contact with anyone, knowing their faces would be all but cheery. Her tone seemed rushed and agitated, or frustrated and annoyed, possibly a mix of the two; however, the Metatron couldn't tell. Mortal emotions were far too complex to categorize, as much as he envied them, classifying them wasn't his strong suit. Besides, he knew as well as many other immortal's, emotions just got in the way of things. It was better off not to have them.

"Hello? I asked you something, Metatron. Damn," she muttered, raising her eyebrow's in impatience, "I don't have all day!"

"Actually," Metatron mocked under his breathe, "you have seven."

"What was that?" Alessia asked at his barely audible word's, not bothering to cease her pacing.

"Oh, nothing, nothing." He added softly, a smirk grazing his crimson lips.

"Now, you're to-do list is plentiful. You have to quit your job-" Metatron started un-fazed by her rude tone, but was interrupted by a noise of fear erupting from Alessia, who grimaced and winced at the thought. She stifled a groan, as he watched her impatiently, "May I continue?" He snapped, rolling his chocolate eye's.

"I'd rather you not." She barked loudly, blushing fiercely as a flock load of stare's turned swiftly towards them, "Morning Myrtle," Alessia sighed softly through her teeth as she put on a forced smile, turning to wave to the Secretary working the Main Desk, as the two made their way towards the Elevator. The woman, clad in a suite of peacock blue, stiffly waved and grinned mischievously.

It was then Alessia received the mental slap. Myrtle Mayor was on of the loudest git's of them all, a glory seeking gossip to say the least. Oh, that was just great. Now the rumor's would be spreading. Give it a day or so and the entire building would be rushed with mad whisper's of Alessia Stalin seeing an older man, who even accompanied her to work when the divorce paper's of her previous marriage weren't even signed. Perfect, absolutely brilliant. However, from what the Metatron was saying, she wondered if she'd be around the Firm long enough to receive the accusations, "I really rather you don't continue." She added, "Actually I'd like it if we just sent me off to China to, oh, I dunno… help some poor kid work on his rice farm or something."

"Well, that's too bad, because I'm going to damn well tell you anyways," The Metatron replied firmly, pushing the elevator button and crossing his arms against his chest in wait, "You have to quit your job-" He paused incase Alessia wished to add another amusing sound effect, but at hearing nothing but a disgruntled sigh, he continued; un-harmed. "Resolve your marital disputes-"

"What the hell? Okay, just because John's a complete ass doesn't mean I have issues and if we're on the god damned topic of-" Alessia quipped, but in realizing the Metatron's grieving stare, shut her mouth and cast her eye's upward to where the elevator was landing. 24th floor… out of 25. It still had some ways to go, and she prayed that it would hurry. Then she realized prayer was all she needed, she had an angel right beside her. The irony. He was right, God did have a wicked sense of humor.

"Okay, are you with me?" Metatron asked hunching his shoulder's a little, weariness in his gesture. When she nodded, still watching the floor numbers, he sustained, "Quit your job, solve your marital disputes, search your soul for who you are, and create a miracle." Metatron listed them off, using his finger's as counter's, each one out-stretching as he noted the requirement's.

Alessia simply sighed once more, feeling the hot tears welling in her eye's, and forcing back the urge to scream and kick anything nearby. The entire, "going to heaven" thing wasn't as easy as she thought. It didn't require simply going to Church, or saying a prayer before every meal. Hell, now she had to create a miracle.

Oh well, it was better she focused on the trivial tasks first. Job, then marriage, then soul searching, then miracle. She bit down on her lower lip anxiously, and willed away the sensation rising in her throat, the sobbing bubble wanting to be popped. It was all too much, too much to handle.

She was thankful that at that moment the door's to the elevator opened with a "ding", and finding it empty, they both stepped inside. Now, only a ride to the 25th floor lay ahead of them.

Both stepped into the compartment, the sound of echoing silence swept over them, neither knowing what to say. Metatron was sure he should have broken the stillness, re-assured her that everything would be fine. Instead, he took the time to observe her out of the corner of his eye.

Absentmindedly, of course.

She was pretty, for a mortal, almost worthy of the title of gorgeous. If she lost the frown and released some of her frustration, maybe put on a smile, she'd boost her self a good ten notches. Possibly even to heavenly. Okay, so he had to admit. She was beautiful, breath-catching, jaw-dropping immaculate. Flawless skin, delicate features, stunning blue eyes, and the kind of voluptuous body most men would only encounter in their dreams. The way she carried herself showed a sign of confidence, of superiority, and it took all the effort her could muster not to drool. But once again, she was mortal. And she was 26. Surely, in his mortal form, he was nearing somewhere 40 and 45. Oh, but how fitting she looked in that business suit. A black pin-stripped skirt, that she tugged on occasionally as it rose up her welcoming thighs, and matching French-tailored jacket. A simple, crystal sky blouse was worn underneath, bringing out the feistiness in her eye's. Her hair had been styled to perfection, so that each strand of the platinum, pale gold hung in place exactly as it should; tucked behind her ears in an aristocratic manner and flipped at the bottom for a hint of fun.

Suddenly, he was caught up in his thought's as the ring of a cell-phone de-railed his train, his eye's quickly danced to the floor. A pattern of horrid and multi-colored squares and circle's greeted his pupil's and he had to allow his eyelid's to work as blind's, shutting out the bright and excruciatingly painful design.

Alessia dug into her left hip pocket and produce the small mobile phone, flipping it open on instinct.

"Hello. This is Alessia Stalin, Criminal Defense Lawyer, at your service." She chirped cheerfully, her voice never missing a beat, sounding well rehearsed and terribly thought out; it was the kind of syrupy pitch every good salesman and woman had to acquire before their big break.

"Oh, hello Lydia! Yes, yes, I got your e-mail. Uh huh, oh I know! Really? Of course! Are you kidding? Well, I always knew you should get the honor. It was too predictable. Alright, well I'll talk to you later! Love you too." Alessia giggled mockingly into the phone, her word's sarcastically cheery, and after making a quick kissing noise she snapped the cell shut with a look of disgust forming across her pale face. She released a loud, "Ugh." And rubbed her temple's between her thumb and fore-finger.

"Who was it?" The Metatron asked with a smirk, quirking a mocha eyebrow in her direction.

"Lydia Baxter. Criminal Defense Lawyer from the 23rd floor. Sent me an e-mail telling me she needed to talk, said it was urgent. So, I called her. Apparently the urgent news was that she won the company's year round achievement award for her work on the Trudent case. Want to know what's funny," Alessia's tone was full of anger know, as she rubbed her temple's subconsciously, not caring whether he wanted to hear of not, "That case was mine. I was almost finished it when my lovely boss's boss decides to re-assign me. So, my boss puts me on a temporary share case, and sends me to work from home. Some stupid thing about a mother stealing diaper's from a drug store. Diaper's for fuck's sake's! Talk about a shit job. No pun intended. Then Lydia waltzes in, sign's the paper's, and takes full damn credit for my work on the Trudent file." Alessia fumed, as the elevator door's opened, and the two stepped out. Metatron couldn't help but let a grin dance across his livid lip's, she was so fired up. It was quite attractive.

"And you wanna know the worst part?" Alessia said, her tone lowering, as she shook a finger at his nose in melancholy, "The only reason she convinced my boss's boss to let her have the case is because she was banging him six ways to fucking Sunday!" Turning quickly towards the wall on her left, she carefully allowed her head to find it's way to the tacky floral wallpaper again and again, "God hates me. He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Metatron eased her, his tone full of an unforeseen gentleness, "But, what you did was wrong." Metatron added, pulling her away from the wall with a caring and aged hand.

"What I did was wrong?" Alessia's eye's widened and she felt the sudden urge to smack him. Hard.

"You lied to her."

"WHEN?' Alessia protested in her own defense, pushing away from him and crossing her arms under her breasts, knowing she would stand corrected.

"On the phone. You lied through your teeth, Alessia. God doesn't take fondly to liars." Metatron added a slight clucking noise with his tongue, shaking a prominent finger and reaching out to poke her on her nose. That delicate, up-turned nose. She swatted his finger away, he mocked a hurtful frown, and she turned on her heels; proceeding down the hallway.

"But aren't you supposed to help me, make God like me?" Alessia questioned as they ambled down the corridor, him following her heels.

"Exactly, and therefore you have to call her back." Metatron allowed his eye's to read the number's on the door's as they sauntered past, the sound of her loose suede pump clacking in his ear. 658, 659, 660…

"BUT I HATE HER!" Alessia spun around, her eye's bearing into his, "I CAN'T STAND THAT LITTLE PRUDE!"

"So, tell her that. Tell her everything you've ever thought about her. And I mean, everything." Metatron seemed un-affected by her sudden assault, as she walked closer and closer to him, to the point where their noses seemed to touch.

"No, way! I won't fucking do it." Alessia chortled un-believingly her tone harsh and in a icy whisper, "You want me to phone her and tell her everything I've ever wanted to say?"

Metatron nodded.

"And God won't be mad?" Alessia backed away, turning around once again, and continuing to walk down the hallway. She had now time for his foolish game's, she had a job to quit and an ex-husband to spite.

"No, God will be pleased. Pleased that human's are acting like human's. Telling the truth and accepting it for what it is." Metatron's eye's continued to scan the room numbers. 661, 662, 663…

"Okay, if you're positive, then you're positive." Alessia groaned, stopping in her tracks but not turning around.

"Does that mean I'm right?" Metatron huffed, his tone sickeningly self-righteous.

"No, it means you're positive. Not right, positive, you insensitive jerk." Alessia retrieved the phone from her hip pocket and quickly used 69 to trace back the last incoming call, placing it to her ear, she continued to walk down the hallway.

"Insensitive jerk? I'll attribute that to the fact that you're going through a tough time right now," Metatron called after her.

"No, attribute it to the fact that you're an insensitive jerk." Alessia barked, letting out a small chuckle so he knew she was playing. However, when he went to retort back with a sarcastic barb, he was stopped by her eye's lighting up and a finger raising instantly to her lips.

"Hello? Lydia? It's me, Alessia Stalin. You see…I have a few thing's I need to tell you. Please, it'll go so much faster if you don't ask questions, don't interrupt, and shut you overly large gossiping mouth for once. Okay." Alessia inhaled deeply, shutting her eye's momentarily and showing off her grey shadow, "Truth be told, Lydia; I don't like you. Not at all. And it ticks me off that you got that god damned award. You wanna know why it ticks me off? Well. I'm going to tell you. But let me take it nice and slow so you understand. One, you stole my case. You know it, I know it, and that ugly excuse for a wig you wear probably knows it too. Two, the only reason you ever got near such a superior case is because you screwed your boss all the way to Timbuktu and back. You didn't think you were actually GOOD at your job, did you? Ha. You, my good friend, are a dirty, filthy, lying, cheating whore. Not to mention the fact you are married, and with three fucking kids! Oh, and since we're on the path to righteousness here…let's just be brutally honest. Everyone know's you're really 39, and if you really wanted to lie, 27 wasn't a good fucking place to start."

Clicking the phone shut abruptly, she smirked, and released a long-awaited breathe of fresh air. He blue eye's reached his of intoxicating mocha, and she allowed them to linger for a well needed while.

"Feel good?" Metatron asked, amused, smiling faintly.

"Feel good?" Alessia laughed whole-heartedly, a weight seemingly lifted from her shoulders, "I feel great. Absolutely great."

Metatron's eye's glanced once more at the number's; 664, 665, and finally, 666. How oddly coincidental.

"This is it, eh?" Alessia straightened out her jacket, and flattened her skirt in an orderly manner, trying to obtain an even higher level of perfection. She emitted a small cough, as if clearing her throat for a long and arduous speech, before taking a step closer to the door.

"Just go in there, tell her everything, and leave. It's simple." Metatron placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and allowed his finger's to caress her re-assuringly, "It's what needs to be done. You know it."

"Ya, I know it." Alessia retorted in a mocking manner as she winced, "But she's a good friend of mine, Metatron, I can't just waltz up and say, 'Hey, sorry to bother you, Mrs. Beddington, but an angel told me I needed to quit my job or I'm spending an eternity in hell.' Damn!"

"Sure you can," Metatron released his grip on her shoulder un-willingly, "But I'd leave out the part about the angel, and an eternity in hell… I don't need to be assigned to help you escape from an asylum, this job is more than enough already."


	6. Temptation's an Arse

**Ihatebooboos39:** First off, nice name. Secondly, I'm so glad you left such a wonderfully long review. It made my day, and actually persuaded me to get this story in full-gear again. And last but not least, Alan Rickman is a complete genius, and it helps that his velvet accent and handsome attributes contribute greatly to his increasing sex appeal. –drools- Alright, I'm done. But, thank-you for reading this, and making it one of your favorite stories. Cheers!

**Nicole:** Reference to the "Mustardseed Parable", just for you. Seriously, if you haven't yet, run and read it.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Temptation's an Arse_

Alessia chuckled un-easily, glad that the Metatron could be humorous in a time like this, even if she was slowly falling apart from the inside-out. Literally, she was sure. Her heart was beating like a wild stallion, her mind surging round and about, her lungs heaving roughly as she increased the intake of oxygen to keep her blood flowing smoothly. Pushing a strand of platinum hair behind her ear with a few shaky fingers, she slowly raised a clenched fist, and knocked on the large oaken door in front of her with great apprehension.

After a few moments time, in which Alessia became lost in a dazed stupor of sorts, a voice was heard from inside the door's enclosure. Cheerfully it chirped, "Ah, Alessia, darling. Come in, come in!" Alessia swallowed hard; willing away the force begging her to turn and run, run as fast as her legs could carry her, to anywhere other than where she was now. Although it seemed to take all her might to open the entrance erratically, she found herself sliding into the office with great ease and standing before the eye's of her first task. Mentally she noted how biblical that really sounded. Alessia Stalin's "First Great Feat"; she was sure it would go alongside the Mustard Seed parable, one of these days, in the Good Book.

The office, itself, was a great accomplishment and proudly shone with the characteristic's of it's magnificent owner. It was square in shape, but the wall's were what made it truly unique. Instead of regular mahogany, or oak paneling, Mrs. Beddington had gone for a very different effect. An effect, which she joked, "reflected" her views of the company as it "shone" with pride. You see, the walls were covered in mirror's, like that of a child's dance studio. Each of the wall's reflected that of the one across from them, giving the office an infinitely large look. This, as it would have been supposed, had always made Alessia feel intimidated, inferior, lost. In the center, Mrs. Beddington sat, most pristinely and properly, at her steel desk on which many paper's were stacked neatly and book's were opened to references of hard to do cases. Aside from the paper's, she had placed a large, and very expensive, computer, a picture frame holding a photo of herself and her family, a clock, an intercom, and many other odd little knick-knack's of which she found no use but sheer amusement. Behind her was a huge shelf, covering most of the mirrored wall; lined with rows and row's of books, and file's, and thing-a-ma-giggy's from who know's where and when.

But what demoralized Alessia the most as she stood by the doorway, wasn't the office at all. It was her. The wonderful woman who dwelled within. Samara Beddington. Head of the Criminal Defense Unit for, well, ever since Alessia could remember. There had always been something of an odd relationship between the two, as they had gone to grade school together, parted in high-school, only to be re-united in Harvard years later. Now there she sat, behind her desk, smiling at Alessia brightly. Her lock's of auburn and deep coffee fell onto her dainty shoulder's in mass amounts, streaked beautifully with strands of rich burgundy and maroon. Her eye's of hazel scanned Alessia ruthlessly, searching for an answer as to why she was there, and suddenly Alessia felt naked, stripped, observed. Samara had the ability to do that to you, make you feel as if she knew everything she wanted to, and everything you never wanted her to. And when Alessia could not come out and say herself why she had come, she found Samara opening her placid rose lip's to simply state, "Well, take a seat and spit it out, mon amie, we don't have all day."

Alessia breathed deeply, and moved forward towards the black leather armchair in front of the steel desk, feeling a little less comfortable then usual as she took a seat, "I'm here to offer my resignation."

There, she had said it. And now, she wanted nothing more than for the word's to come flowing back and retreating.

Samara, however, simply laughed, "No, really. What would you like?" She smiled, all too sweetly, and Alessia found a lump forming in her throat.

"I came to quit," Alessia stammered again, hoping that God would help her out just this once and give her a tad more confidence, "I've decided to pursue, erm, another career option, uhm, and I think it's in my best interest to-"

"Wait one second, Alessia." Samara interrupted roughly, crossing her arm's across her front, chocolate eyebrow's raising in question, "You're telling me, your boss, that it's in your best interest to leave the Firm? Should I not be the one to tell you what I think is in your best interest? Last time I checked you were our top employee, able to work seven cases at once, and nearing a pay raise- that, my love, is not in your best interest to disregard."

"Yes, but I-" Alessia stuttered in her defense.

"Is that it? You've been waiting too long for a pay raise? Well then, if that's what it takes to keep you. Let's up that pay. Sound good?" Samara asked rapidly, not giving the blonde a chance to breathe before picking up a file to her right and scanning through it, "You're already making a ten thousand a month. Let's say, thirty. Hmmm?"

Alessia's jaw-dropped, and her eyebrow's cocked. Thirty thousand. A MONTH? Was she kidding? Of course not, Samara was never one to kid about such serious issue's. However, Alessia needed to quit. She needed to quit! But the money was so tempting. So very tempting. And it was there, all she had to do was reach out for it. She could have anything she wanted with that kind of cash, she could have it all and more.

Opening her mouth to speak, she found herself lost in thought.

"How about a car? Would you like a car? I've got a pretty decent Escalade sitting in my driveway, well, to be honest, I have two. Candy apple red, nightshade leather interior. Say it, and it's yours."

An Escalade? She was being offered thirty thousand dollar's a month, and a fine car! If she simply kept her job! This was too good to be true, and the temptation was tearing her up inside. She wanted to jump out and scream at the top of her voice, to pull out her hair, to reach across the desk and shake her colleague senseless.

"You drive a hard bargain," Samara continued with thoughtfulness, raising her index finger to her chin inquisitively, as Alessia sat across from her in shock, "A house. I'll buy you a summer cottage on the shore of Paris. Or how about London? You've always loved London."

It was then that Alessia's mind hit something crucial. Temptation. One of the most incredulous thing's ever stumbled on in the Bible. In every story there was temptation. Temptation to stray from the path in which you needed to travel, temptation to go around your original belief's, temptation to forget about your virtue's and moral's. Those who broke down in front of temptation suffered, but those who did not were shown gratification beyond their very knowledge.

"Not London?" Samara rambled on, the word's nothing but a fuzzy array of tone, "How about Greece. I hear there are some really nice-"

"Listen, as much as this pains me." Alessia took a deep breathe, closing her cobalt eye's and hoping they would work as lumberjack's, chopping the situation from her sight, "Samara, I have to quit, alright? I just have to. There is no persuading me not to, because I have certain reasons not even you can comprehend, reasons that measure far beyond that of money, or automobiles, or summer cottages. Therefore, in order to keep my sanity, I'm just going to stand up right now and march out of this office. My thing's will be cleared by the end of the day and I will organize my file's and have them on your desk by tomorrow morning. Thank you for your time."

And with that, Alessia stood up from her leather seat and headed towards the door. Swinging it open, she stepped out into the hallway without one glance back at what could have been of her life, a life she had wished for ever since forever. Paris, London, car's, money. Sighing, her eye's met with Metatron's, who was leaning against the wall across the hallway. Bit by bit, little by little, she felt her eye's fill with tears, and raising an angry fist she briskly whisked them away.

The elevator was taken in silence for another twenty-five floors.

No one even came out of their office's to say good-bye as Alessia left her job behind her, as well as a piece of her past self. And yet, something told her, it wasn't the first time she'd be doing such.


	7. To Change Who I Am

**Eris: **I was trying to depict her as the bringer of the deadly sin, greed. It's defined to be "the desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual.", which would work in the previously stated position- as Samara attempted to rid Alessia of her spiritual course to instead gain a material fulfillment. Out of curiosity, though, did you have a different opinion as to which she would have been? Because yesterday someone commented that she also could have been that of pride, or gluttony. I'm just inquisitive as to what I portrayed for my reader's. Well, I hope you enjoyed it anyways.

**Nicky**: Glad you liked it. Jay and Bob are coming back next chapter. Stay tuned.

* * *

**Chapter Five **

_To Change Who I Am _

Metatron had suggested that the best way to relieve Alessia's current state of fatigue, although she aggressively insisted it wasn't fatigue but instead frustration, was to get a little something to eat and perhaps go over and further question's she may have had. Obviously, he knew far beyond well, that she still had many; after all, it had been quite hard to gather her thought's when three strange men suddenly propped themselves on the end of her mattress while proclaiming themselves as prophets and angel's and such. Quite hard indeed.

So, the had retreated to a small delicatessen, just around the corner from the Law Firm where she had once worked; but Metatron had made sure it was hidden from the view from any of the restaurant's windows, as to not induce another fit of hysteric sobs from the young woman who had not grown partial to the idea that she had thrown some of the best year's of her life away, that she had tossed in the gutter all of what she had worked so hard for. She had strived for the finest grades, gone to the most esteemed school's, worked every moment of every day of her life to the best of her ability- all for what? To suddenly be told that none of it was suitable in the eyes of her Lord, that she would be forced to forget everything she'd ever done in order to be truly happy. Dammit, she was happy. She was absolutely fucking happy, and quitting her job, seeing her moronic ex-husband, and trying to search through her soul for "who she truly was" were not going to make her happier. In fact, she was sure they would make her much, much, much unhappier.

They sat in silence, across from one another, occasionally shifting uncomfortably atop the red leather cushions of the modern booth; both set's of eye's glued to the menu, lips pursed, leg's crossed. Until Metatron gave up, his awkwardness caving in, and he placed the menu down with an elongated sigh escaping his lip's. Who was he kidding, it's not as if he could have consumed the wonderful foods even if he wished, which he did of course, and the entire situation was getting incredibly out of hand.

"Are you not going to speak to me ever again?" He questioned bluntly, eye's narrowing at her, as she seemed to slouch even further down on her leather lump, so even the top of her head could not be glimpsed over the rim of the plastic menu, "Because its not my fault you know, none of this is my fault, and it's not as if I planned the itinerary."

Perhaps it was the sincerity in the word's he so gracefully spoke, but Alessia found herself slowly regaining a sturdy posture, and soon placing the menu down on the tabletop in front of her, "I know it's not your fault," She mumbled, blinking once or twice before casting her eye's up at the ceiling.

"It's not His fault either," Metatron interjected, catching the hidden meaning behind the traveling route of her stare.

She groaned, "I'm assuming it's the fault of the only person left at this table to blame."

Metatron shrugged, "I couldn't tell you. Truthfully, I'm not sure it's anyone's fault. It's just, something along the course of your existence didn't go as planned, something you did ran you off the pure road, and I was sent her to fix that something."

"Ah, well, did anyone up there," Alessia allowed her eye's to shoot a deadly glare towards the ceiling once more, "ever think that perhaps everything went as planned. Except it was not to the plan He configured, but it was the plan that I configured. I mean, I thought I had everything figured out until this morning, when suddenly I was informed what I did throughout my entire being wasn't good enough for God! Apparently, nothing I did was good enough, not my job, or my marriage, or even myself! And that just-"

She was interrupted by the soft sensation of a small tear running down the side of her porcelain cheek, followed by another, and then a few more. It seemed as though what Alessia had been holding in the entire morning was coming forth at the most inappropriate of times, and there was no way that she could have made it stop, a part of her wasn't even going to try. In doing so, unfortunately, she also unveiled Metatron's weakness.

"Oh, goodness, please," He mumbled, rolling his eyes, and passing her the napkin from beneath his set of utensils, "There's no need for that, Less, really."

Grumbling a few barely audible curses beneath her breathe, she roughly grabbed the paper from between his finger's, and dabbed gently at her cheeks.

"You know, you shouldn't think of this the way you are," Metatron stated simply, watching as she dried the few remaining tear's from her eye's, although they seemed to start forth again continuously no matter how many times she patted them away.

"What do you mean?" She snapped, slamming a fist down on the table, which sent forth a vibration that shook the glass container's storing condiment's against the wall; the sound of porcelain chiming rang loudly, and Alessia couldn't help but blush softly in embarrassment, although her voice continued to carry an icy undertone, "Are you saying that I shouldn't be angry that God's asking me to give up everything I am?"

"I'm just saying," he inhaled a deep breathe, soothingly allowing his eyes to search for a response within hers, as he outstretched a weathered hand across the table and let his touch connect with her arm in reassurance, "That sometimes we have to give up everything we are, for what we can become."

Not oblivious to his physical relation with her, she glanced down at his hand before retreating her fury with a defeated sigh, "I'm just afraid of what I will become."

Nothing but a nod escaped the man across from her, and she continued as if believing he had some sort of understanding to what she was about to say, "I've lived all my life one way, the only way I thought possible, and now I'm being asked to make changes that will turn that entire concept of myself upside down. You're asking me to change who I am."

Metatron shook his head, a frown over taking his façade, his eyebrow's furrowing, "No, no, no- you're not changing who you are. None of this is who you are! Your job, your relationships- all these thing's aren't what make you. It's true that they are what build you, but it's not what makes you. Alessia, all we're asking is that you re-think what builds you. You'll always be the same confident, intelligent, quirky young woman on the inside- but on the outside you'll have reached a fulfillment you can't even begin to comprehend. And I believe that this fulfillment will bring you more joy than a high-paying job, your stunning reputation, and some two-bit ex-boyfriend ever could."

"What if I can't do it?" The blonde-haired woman asked softly, her eyes pleading for the honest answer, "What if I just can't do it?"

"You can do it, and you will." And that was how he left it. No mention of seven days, no mention of time ticking quickly by them, no mention that if her deeds were not completed she would be deemed an un-pure soul, and absolutely no mention that thing's were just going to keep getting harder. After all, he was sure some interjection from the "opposing team" would soon be sent to will Alessia away from the task at hand- because both sides wanted her equally, she was just yet to realize why.

Another string of stillness was interchanged until the waitress came to ask them their order. Per usual, Alessia was undecided between the clam chowder and the stir-fry and thus chose both, and Metatron said that he was no longer hungry, opting for not displaying the disgusting trait of having to regurgitate all meals incessantly.


End file.
